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Those softly spoken words had lodged themselves deep in James’s heart and stirred something wicked and ugly inside of him. He felt oddly off balance. The temptation had been there to simply ask for her attacker’s name and avenge her honor. It hadn’t mattered that he did not know her identity, he despised those who hurt and abused people who should be protected. He had also never been the type to tolerate injustice. And somehow, she had uncovered that truth about him, trying to appeal to his softer side, except he had no softness in his heart.
Someone hurt me…
His unknown lady had departed a little over two hours ago, and her softly whispered words of pain had already started their haunting. Well hell, come on then…
He took a sip of whisky, his fourth glass since she’d left, and he was nowhere close to being inebriated. A state he would welcome for it would numb the pain in his ribs. Tonight’s fight had been rough, dirty, and unnecessary. He had enough wealth now to manage his estates comfortably, he did not need the fighting pits as he had a few years past. He’d stayed away for more than a year, and then he had stupidly allowed Lady Susanna’s hysterical rejection to drive him to fighting, seeking its dark pleasure and the freedom of leaving the cares of the world behind.
Someone hurt me…
A hiss slipped from him as her soft entreaty rolled through him once again. It was nonsense, a lady wanting to fight. And he did not doubt her. There had been something wild and defiant in her expectations, even though her speech, carriage, and how she folded her damn hands screamed gentility. He admired her courage, but she was far too independent and bold. The haut monde had no use for people that were different, especially in their women. A rigid adherence to their rules was the general expectation.
Though it was conceivable that there were young ladies who dared to step out from under the restrictions their families and society dictated. His veiled lady would not survive long amongst the wolves of society with a personality like hers. She would be judged and found wanting for her unique bravery. Even now if society should learn that the son of a duke had attacked her in such a violent, disgusting manner, it would be her that would be judged and cast aside. Very much like what her brother had done. Her brother also deserved a rapier through his misguided and selfish heart. No doubt his connection to a future duke had been more important than protecting his sister’s honor.
It was a wonder she’d had the courage to visit James in his home when she’d heard so much of his reputation.
I do not want to feel afraid.
And in that softly echoed statement, he'd felt a moment of affinity…a connection of sorts. There had been a time when he had been afraid of the older boys in the village who resented a future earl, pretending to be one of them—poor, hungry, and desperate for another life. James had been seven at the time, and those boys had been older by a few years. They'd attacked in droves, and he'd had no one to defend him. His father had abandoned him in his drunken grief and had deliberately set his only son to endure a harsh life without any of the privileges that came with being a future earl. James had learned very quickly how to fight and to hurt so he could have a measure of peace.
And it was that she wanted. Peace…to sleep and not have nightmares.
Who are you? The sudden need to know burned through him with alarming fierceness. What kind of lady was she? Brave. That answer was immediate. She exuded a fire and strength he had never seen in another woman, attested by her will to venture down such a dangerous and ruinous path. And the need to help her flamed through James. And perhaps he would take her offer to learn how to be the kind of man ladies of society required to be their husbands.
The yearning for such finer things, the acceptance into a world that he should have effortlessly belonged to blasted through him, yet something inside of him fiercely recoiled at bowing to any part of society’s ridiculous expectations. A gentleman? What need did he have of such appellation? Yet the memory of how everyone looked at him, mistrustful as if he was a brute who did not belong to their society, was very reminiscent of his father’s disdain. The memory of Lady Susanna’s horrified refusal felt like acid against his skin.
Seven years amongst his society and he still did not feel as if he had a place.
James scowled, tugging at the loose cravat around his throat. It felt like a goddamn noose growing tighter and tighter with each reflection.
A gentleman.
And what made a man a gentleman? He peered down at his fist, wincing at the callouses and spidery network of old fighting cuts and fresh bruises.
And she believed she could help refine his hard edges more, did she? It wasn’t an equitable bargain at all, but he was still tempted. For he did wish to marry and secure his heir for the earldom. He had fought too long and brutally, done so many things to save his estates to leave it all to chance. It had been his plan for several months now, and he had been foolish to invest his attention in a lady who only saw him as a hulking brute. The same way his father had seen him, for it had been James’s size upon birth which had taken his mother’s life, and his father never once let him forget it.
If this lady could help him refine those sharp edges, just perhaps they could strike a bargain. But what kind of man would merrily help a young lady of society on the path to ruin? For there was no other outcome if she persisted on such a path.
A lady learning to fight. He scoffed, he considered, and his curious fascination grew in unchecked leaps and bounds. Women are amongst the most vulnerable in society. So they should be the most protected, but what if by way of indifference, selfishness, or lack of family they are not protected? In such a case James could affirm the confidence that one gains from being able to defend oneself. There was logic in her reasoning. But what of her reputation? Though degrees of ruination and respectability were solely ascribed by those with elevated opinions of the haut monde. When in truth, neither the lady’s virtue nor character would be sullied. And it seemed she was of a similar leaning in placing little stock in the ton’s opinions. James very soon became reconciled to the notion of assisting her, for he truly hated the helplessness which had echoed in her voice.
But where to find her? The foolish woman had not thought to leave a card or any clues to her identity that he could pursue. Is it that she planned to pay him another clandestine nighttime visit? Making an impulsive decision, he surged to his feet and faltered at the naked woman draped in the doorway.
Bloody hell, he forgot she awaited him in his chamber upstairs, and a woman like Countess Marissa Michaels was not to be ignored and forgotten.
“Darling, I actually fell asleep waiting,” she said with a small pout, meant to be enticing.
James suddenly felt tired of the games that were an intricate part of his lifestyle. Shame and anger also burned through him in equal measure. The Countess was married, and he'd promised himself years ago never to take a married woman to his bed. Simply because he believed in the sanctity of some vows. And a marriage, promising to be faithful to each other’s b
ody, desires, hopes and dreams, that felt like something worth protecting. While he’d felt the awful sting from the brutal rejection of his father, James had weirdly admired the man’s dedication to his beloved countess. He had grieved her until the end of his days.
It seemed his unknown lady had saved him from a folly he shouldn’t have needed rescuing from. James set his glass down on the table and prowled over to the countess. With a smile, she tossed her curly mane of blonde hair, allowed the dark blue silken robe to part perfectly down the middle, revealing her delectable body, hinting at the wild night of passion that could be spent between her legs.
James’s mind or body did not stir, and he belatedly realized perhaps he hadn’t needed rescuing. And that he had lingered in the library drinking, even though a woman willing to indulge in debauchery had awaited him in his chamber.
“Forgive me, Marissa,” he said with a rueful smile upon reaching her. He lightly touched her cheek with the back of his hand, not wanting to abrade her skin with his rough callouses. “You are a lovely woman, but you should not be here. I will arrange for you to be discreetly taken home to your lord.”
Her blue eyes spat fire before narrowing. “Who is she?”
He swallowed back the sigh of impatience. “Marissa—”
